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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28014564">trigger</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/intothegarbagechute/pseuds/witchertrashbag'>witchertrashbag (intothegarbagechute)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Consensual Mind Control, F/M, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, referenced past non-consensual mind control</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:09:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>786</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28014564</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/intothegarbagechute/pseuds/witchertrashbag</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Folks I’ve been thinking about how Geralt has a hyper-sensitive nose and Yennefer reads minds, and how they each do something wordless to help soothe/offer a little sanctuary to the other.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>trigger</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><b>content warnings:</b> descriptions of consensual mind control, D/s dynamics, submission, not actually smut, a merge of Netflix and book stuff here.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="">
    <p> </p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>The gooseberries were actually a skin treatment. A scrub, to be specific, and a very effective one. Yennefer made it herself, and had used it for decades before she ever met the witcher. The lilac came from an oil she used to clean her face. Not that she needed anti-aging treatments, not anymore. Opening the bottle was better than a portal; instantly she was six years old, wandered out to the edge of alderman’s wife’s garden, where vines as twisted as her spine caressed the old stone walls and blossomed with the flower, the scent heady in the summer sun. Her mother found her; she was enveloped in a hug forever encoded with the smell.</p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She corked the bottle, her routine nearly complete. The witcher would arrive soon, and she mused over the kohl and rouge before her, already deep in the familiar little ritual. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She had once considered giving up both scents, the second time she ever saw Geralt. The minute she’d entered the tavern-- the minute his nose had registered her-- his mind had flashed, hot and bright, with the memory of her thrall. Of the total submission to her, not knowing what he had done or would do for her, all inextricably tied to the fragrance.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She’d backed out of that doorway as quickly as she’d unintentionally barged in. It was not her business. She hadn’t known him. No real harm had come to him or anyone else, in the end. It was long past. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>(But she knew that feeling too well. Being at someone’s whim? Scrapping clawing scratching fighting against the cage only to realize the only thing you’ve gnawed through is your own skin?)</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The air was humid; she hadn’t needed the scrub. She had never needed the lilac oil. She’d kept both packed away and waited for the lingering fragrance to lift from her clothes.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But at night, at the campfire, unintentionally (but not) sitting downdraft of the fire, as she’d watched the logs crackle and tried to filter out the ghastly, crude thoughts of the humans and dwarves around her as she usually did, one presented itself to her like a question. <em>The scent, of lilacs and gooseberries. The feeling of submission, of surrender, given freely. The bliss of release, like sinking into a hot bath. The arousal of it, of not knowing what would happen; the burning humiliation of knowing it could be anything, and you would never know, and did not want to. The anticipation of finding out afterward, of imagining what you looked like. The complete trust--</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Yennefer’s eyes had flown to Geralt’s. He’d blushed deeply and quickly thought of methodically tacking up Roach. She’d left the fire abruptly, not sure if he’d intended to show her those things, or if it had been an accident. A request, or... something more private.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She’d bathed in her tent that evening. The scent was even stronger for her after a few days without. The memory even more powerful.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Now, as she finished applying the kohl, still filtering out the constant din of the various mundane, wretched, <em>loud</em> thoughts of the citizens of Novigrad below her, one seemed to glow, growing brighter.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>A waterfall, the cool mist floating onto your face.</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>A summer meadow of buttercups, the birdsong gone suddenly quiet.</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>Lightning hitting the ocean, the waves churning in a storm.</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>Ciri’s nose crinkling with delight after a perfectly-executed half-turn, then her face as she realizes she’s falling off balance into a puddle.</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Yennefer laughed, delighted to see her.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>Geralt, kneeling shirtless before the fireplace in her room, looking up at her, begging her-- suddenly his clothes were completely gone, a question... and then back on, an anxious revision.</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Yennefer opened the door before he could knock.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She watched his face as the scent enveloped him, the slight shiver that ran across his skin, the way his yellow eyes dilated, his mouth hung open slightly.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yen, I--”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Witcher, you look ensorcelled already. Should I be jealous?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She guided him inside and closed the door. “Do you want this for real, or just pretend this time?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She could feel his mind resist and cover with flickers of Roach, hiding something, a memory, and recent.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You can show me,” she told him softly.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You don’t need to see it,” he told her firmly. “You’ve seen enough.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She came to him, let him wrap his hands around her head and tilt their foreheads together. He was clean, she observed. Freshly bathed. Something in the preparation, how needy he was for her, prickled something under her skin, shot heat straight to her core, and she inhaled him as though she could devour him that way.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Then let’s do this for real,” she murmured.</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
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